OCEANS.
The second I landed in Sydney, I dialed Reeves.
"What have you found?" I asked, taking long strides toward the cars waiting on the tarmac.
"Nothing yet, sir." He sounded the exact way he always did when the news was bad, and he was managing how he delivered it. "Mr. Gerald had no CCTV in his house. The property a few yards away recorded nothing useful either."
Fuck.
I loosened my tie like it was suffocating me. The Sydney air was warm and open, and it still felt like the walls were closing.
Whoever this was, they were thorough. Disturbingly thorough. The kind of thoroughness that didn't happen by accident or improvisation — it was practiced. The work of someone who had been doing this long enough to know exactly what to remove and what to leave behind. And they were taking it
